


Psychography

by jury



Series: Skydomfuck Universityworld [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Comment Fic, Compulsion, Gods, M/M, Magic, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 21:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jury/pseuds/jury
Summary: The first time Martîn saw the scared man was in the royal university library.





	Psychography

**Author's Note:**

> Written for "100 words of The Sky Dom Making You Write Out Your Iddy Fantasy".

The first time Martîn saw the scared man was in the royal university library. It was out of the corner of his eye — a man in a rumpled coat dashing towards the exit with a scrap of paper clutched in one hand. Perhaps he had made some alchemical discovery for his supervisor, Martîn thought, briefly remembering his own days as a harried undergraduate. But he was busy, and returned to his own research without another thought.

It was a week before he saw him again, this time in the west courtyard. It was getting quite cold in the mornings, which Martîn enjoyed with tea and a cheroot clamped between his lips, trying to review material before he had to give a lecture. No student was up at this hour, generally, which gave double weight to the oddity of the young, slim man running across the courtyard — cutting across the grass, no less — with a piece of paper clutched in one hand. It looked like it was torn out of a book, with jagged handwriting across the back of the page. Martîn wondered who his supervisor was, to make him run around at such an hour, but forgot about it almost as quickly as it happened.

The third time was in the library again. One of his most clever students had asked a particularly difficult transmutation question, and Martîn had spent several hours attempting to clarify the answer, his desk stacked with so many books that they clustered all the way to the edge of the pool of lamplight. He was deep in thought when the scared man sat down next to him, his chair sliding gracelessly across the floor. Martîn glanced up. The young man looked terrible, dark circles under his eyes, skin pallid, his fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. Martîn frowned. Supervisors shouldn't be overworking their students like this. Tired students learned nothing and were of no use to anyone, and were more likely to make deadly mistakes. This young man would be handsome, too, if he had a good night's sleep and a few meals.

"Excuse me," he said, taking off his reading glasses. The young man turned to him, eyes blinking slowly. "Who is your — "

He handed Martîn a slip of paper. Martîn slipped his reading glasses back on and thrust it under the pool of light. It said, in a firm and jagged hand, _I suck the professor off under the table._

Martîn turned back. The young man was gone. There were hands on Martîn's thighs, shivering fingers unbuttoning his pants and a hot mouth closing over the tip of his cock. "Wait," Martîn hissed, but there was no waiting. The young man was not only skilled but _hungry_, his tongue and his soft, wet gasps coaxing Martîn to a hardness that felt preternatural and made him dizzy with it, clutching wildly at books and pens on the table in an attempt to stay quiet. The young man took his cock to the very hilt and sobbed quietly around it, the workings of this throat around the sensitive head and the insistent rub of his tongue bringing Martîn to a climax so fast his head spun. Martîn bit into the back of his hand to stifle his breath and groans; it was red and wet when he pulled away. It had been a long time; he came so much that he was surprised the young man swallowed it all, tucking Martîn's cock away and buttoning his pants with that same shaking hand.

Then he returned to the seat next to Martîn and sat there, looking straight ahead.

"Who are you?" Martîn hissed. "What — why did you do that?"

The young man's lips were red and looked raw, plump with use. It made Martîn flush down his whole body to think of what had just happened.

"People don't usually ask that," the young man said, his voice hoarse and dreamy. "People don't usually ask anything at all." Martîn could see he was hard, but the young man made no move to attend to his own needs.

"What's your name?"

"Amaury," the young man said, leaning forward to rest his head on the table, turning it towards Martîn. "I had to do it."

"Who made you?" Martîn said. He reached out, wondering if he could sense a compulsion spell if he could touch — but Amaury flinched back.

"Don't," he said, pulling his hands away. "Not unless you want to get another note."

A note? Martîn's eyes flicked down to the paper still in front of him, turned sideways and crumpled. His cheeks grew warm from seeing it, and flipped it over.

"I don't understand," he said.

"I did something I shouldn't have done," Amaury said, and stretched, catlike. There was something sensual in the way he moved, even in his crumpled coat and vest, his tie crooked and mostly undone. "I drew attention to myself." 

"If you're being bullied, I can help," Martîn said.

Amaury laughed, loud and raw enough to turn heads and draw shushes across the room. He ducked down again below the lip of the desk's edge, rolling his head around to look at Martîn. "Unless you can compete with a god, Professor, I don't think you can help."

A chill sparked in Martîn's body. "What did you do," he said, words passing through nerveless lips.

"I just wanted to get ahead, that's all," Amaury said. "I haven't slept in days — I can't stop _thinking_ things." He reached over and took Martîn's hand, his skin soft and clammy. No, not took his hand, moved it to pick up Martîn's pen, leaning over to write something on the bottom half of his notes. He pressed so hard as he wrote the table shook with the motion. "The bargain — when I think — when I fantasise something, he makes me write it. He makes me _do_ it."

Amaury flipped the paper over and stood. His exit was slow but still erratic, his steps drifting from side to side.

It took Martîn a minute before he could even reach out to turn over the paper, his body still echoing with confusion and the aftershocks of pleasure. He didn't have to do anything, no matter what the piece of paper said. He reached out and flipped it over with a hand that did not feel like his own.

_The professor takes me home. He puts his whole fist inside me. I can't move. All I can do is come. He fucks me until I pass out._

Martîn knocked three books off the table in his haste to follow Amaury out.


End file.
